


Now we're cooking.

by Mel_Sanfo



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Sara Lance (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_Sanfo/pseuds/Mel_Sanfo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Oliver Queen, Bratva Brigadier, receives a call from a friend requesting his assistance he finds himself dabbling on his OTHER area of expertise while helping out a charming blonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now we're cooking.

**Author's Note:**

> xx This was my gift to Cheryl @cherchersketch during the Olicity Secret Santa exchange.
> 
> As per usual, I don't own Arrow and all mistakes are my own.

Oliver Queen liked his life. He liked pretty much everything about it. He was in his late 20’s, he was self-sufficient and successful as well as one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, which meant he never hurt in the ‘finding a date’ department or more accurately a woman to warm his bed for the night. Sure, it was hard leading a double life, being a Brigadier for the Bratva plus a restaurant and club owner, but all in all he was happy with how things had turned out for him, considering how they had started.

His parents, Moira and Robert Queen, had been royalty in Starling city, for lack of a better word (or pun) but all of that had gone away rather quickly when Oliver was 18 and his sister was 10. Their parents had been found guilty of major tax evasion, fraud and other very nasty charges and the authorities had been more than happy to take care of business, leaving party-boy Oliver with the responsibility of taking care of his little sister while scrounging up for money.

It was Raisa, who had been the housekeeper at Queen Mansion, who took pity on them. Raisa who had helped them both and it was Raisa who offered Oliver the chance to start fresh with the opportunity of moving with her back to her home, Russia, along with Thea, where her own brother, Anatoly, could help them out even more.

And so the Queen heirs had left America, their legal counsel keeping an eye on what little the authorities would leave behind of Oliver’s and Thea’s inheritance when he reached the age of 21. When they arrived in Russia Raisa’s brother had been more than happy to welcome them into his home but of course there were rules to follow and Oliver, having been the golden boy with little structure in his life, floundered.

It was a mixture of things that shifted Oliver’s perception and attitude. His need to be a role model for his sister, who he loved more than anything in the world, as well as Raisa’s new role in their life, plus Anatoly’s influence. He granted Oliver the one thing that he had been starving for when it came to Robert, approval, and Oliver soaked it up like a sponge. It was his sense of loyalty and the inner strength that the older man could see in him that made Anatoly introduce Oliver to the Bratva.

There was a major blow up between the siblings, since an induction to the Russian Mafia was not what Raisa had in mind for Oliver when she’d move them to her homeland but it was already done. Oliver was old enough to make the decision and the structure of the organization actually seemed to help shape the misguided young man he’d been into something better. But Raisa didn’t give up that easily. She knew of something else that required structure and so, Anatoly trained Oliver in the Bratva life and Raisa trained him in her area of expertise.

Cooking.

Years went by and Oliver climbed the ranks of Bratva quickly, earning his place as the first American Brigadier by blood, sweat and everything else that was required while keeping his sister pointedly out of the life. He also pursued a more ‘clean’ career path that would serve as a cover, in the long run, by becoming a Chef.

Of course some of the men in the ranks had their doubts about him, because of his love for cooking, as it was unheard of for a Captain to take on such a meaningless task.  And there were a few incidents, however after he gave a serious demonstration of his prowess with certain kitchen implements when he caught a lower ranked brother gossiping about how Oliver’s true place was ‘in the kitchen with the women’ there were rumors and incidents no more. Oliver had been more than happy to show his brothers some very creative usage of his knives and just how fearsome he could truly be. Chef or not.

In the end he was never doubted again, as an American or a Captain.

The Queen siblings were happy in Russia but when the opportunity to return to America, in order to lead the American branch of the Bratva from his hometown, came up Oliver knew it was time to return.

He was 25 when he returned to Starling, Thea joining him a year later once he had established himself in Starling as both the new Brigadier and a club owner. It was easier to keep Thea out of the life once they were back in America, even though she knew about her brother’s ‘less than legal’ on the side life. Oliver couldn’t have been happier when she informed him that she had no intention of joining the Bratva; that she had her own ideas regarding her future and when she decided to enroll in SCU, to study business administration, he was over the moon.

Needless to say Oliver Queen liked his life very much.

It was too bad that a call from one of his old friends was going to knock it off kilter.

It all started with an S.O.S text from Sara Lance.

The younger Lance sister had always held a spot in Oliver’s heart. He’d dated her older sister, Laurel, while they were in high school and Sara had been the imp little sister that made him laugh with her antics. Where Laurel had been serious and focused on her ‘plans for the future’, Sara was the free spirit who got Ollie a lot better, brainwave wise. If she hadn’t been interested in women, even from an early age, Oliver was sure that, at some point, they could’ve gotten in a LOT of sexy trouble together.

“Sara.” He’d said into his phone, walking away from the warehouse where he’d just conducted an interrogation, letting his men take care of the clean-up.

“Remember that favor that you owe me since 10th grade, Ollie? I am cashing it out.” The voice on the other side of the line said.

“You mean the one you’ve been cashing out since I came back to the States?” he’d asked in a good natured manner.

“Ollie, come on! Don’t get hung up on the details.” she’d said “I’ve got a friend who is in a bit of a pickle and it’s right there in your area of expertise. Very much up your alley. So, how would you like to play hero today? Since I’m out of state and can’t help her myself.”

And for a moment all Oliver though of was his many areas of expertise. Did she mean interrogation? Torture? Archery? Intimidation? Sex? Business?

“Are you there?” she’d asked.

“Yeah, I’m still here.” He’d replied sounding a bit confused. “What is it that your friend needs exactly?”

“Is that a yes?! Ollie! You’re the best… Ok. Here’s the thing.”

And that’s how Oliver Queen, Brigadier of the Bratva, found himself standing before the white door of a none descriptive townhome in the outskirts of The Glades on a Friday afternoon; having knocked on the door of a complete stranger in order to help them out.

The footsteps on the other side of the door were hurried, suddenly the barrier between the outside and the inside of the home was thrown open and he was faced with quite possibly the last thing he had expected. And she was gorgeous.

She was petite, with blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail, beautiful blue eyes framed by thick, yet stylish, glasses and such a bright color of pink on her lips that his brain stuttered. He was sure he’d never seen that shade on anything; ever. She wore white with colored polka dots, a sleeveless top and skirt combo that could’ve passed as a short but whole dress if the tempting strip, only an inch or so, of skin at her midriff hadn’t been showing. To top it all off she was barefoot, with legs that seemed to go on for miles, a playful shade of orange winking at him from her done up toes.

“Felicity Smoak?” he asked, forcing himself to move his gaze back to her face. “Hi. I’m Oliver…”

“Oh no.” She interrupted going pale and then blushing fire engine red right after while closing her eyes and groaning deep in her throat “Oh god, no. Sara… Ooooh, I am going to murder her.” She muttered, her statement making his eyebrows climb to the top of his forehead in surprise. “Please, please, please, tell me you’re not one of those ‘chef’s in the buff’ type of chefs. Please? No shame here and I’m certainly not judging, I am just really begging you to please tell me that because it’d be just like Sara to try and fix both my ‘can’t cook to save my life’ problem and my ‘boyfriend’ problem all in one big swoop. Not that you needed to know either one of those things but I babble when I’m nervous and right now I am VERY nervous. That is not to say that you couldn’t pull it off. The whole cooking in the buff thing. Well, not in the buff, like completely naked, I’m sure that’d be an incredibly dangerous thing to do. I meant with just your apron on, which doesn’t make it any better, now that I think about it. With the fire and the oil. But if you were, I mean, you totally could pull it off, what with being all muscly and tall, with the eyes and face plus the whole scruff going on and I swear I’m going to stop talking in 3…2…1.” She bit her lower lip so hard after speaking the numbers that Oliver was sure that if she applied just a smidge more force she’d draw blood.

“Hi.” He tried again with a surprised and amused smile and a huffed chuckle. “I’m Oliver Queen. Friend of Sara’s. Not a naked Chef, just a Chef.”

“Oh thank God.” The blonde said, her words carried in an exhale.

“I take it you ARE Felicity?” he ventured.

“Oh. OH! Yes, sorry. Yes. Felicity. Smoak. That’s me. Sorry. Again. Just, lots of things going on, up here.” She pointed to her head smiling brightly up at him and then noticing the grocery bags dangling from one of his hands she smacked her forehead. “Oh God, that was so rude of me. Sorry. Please, come on in.” she said, stepping back and out of the way so he could enter her home.

“Sara said that you were having some technical difficulties with your cooking.”

“To have technical difficulties I’d have to have technique IN cooking, which I don’t. Like at all.” She answered, scrunching up her nose in a grimace.

Very much like the woman the home was full of color and light which made him feel, for the first time in a long time, somewhat inadequate. His gray Henley, dark wash jeans and black boots felt too dark to be in the environment but he shrugged it off and put that out of his mind.

“Kitchen?” he asked while looking over her shoulder, watching her close the door.

“This way.” She said swishing past him in the direction of the kitchen and it took him a second to follow.

What she was doing was NOT walking, it was definitely swishing, like gliding but with a motion to her shapely hips that could have hypnotized him, if he’d let it.

“Thank you so much for doing this.” She began to say standing at the entrance of the kitchen and motioning towards the space with her hands, the same shade of polish that was on her toes adorned her fingernails. “I don’t know how Sara got you to do this but still. I am very thankful.”

“It’s Ok. I’m just repaying an old favor. Hopefully, this will be the last time she cashes the same one in.” He offered with a small smirk and a wink, placing the grocery bags on the counter and getting to work, pulling out the ingredients. “She told me that you had a plan for this meal but that it fell through so I thought I’d go with one of my specialties, it’ll be easy to whip up in no time that way. She also warned me about your peanut allergy, so no worries, I have taken that into consideration regarding the meal choice.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. I just don’t want to serve my mom something from the microwave.” She admitted with a playful grimace, her cheeks still stained with a hint of blush from when he’d winked at her. “And I’m really sorry about that whole naked chef thing, it’s just…such a Sara thing to do.”

He chuckled at that, nodding his head a few times.

“It’s fine. Really. Now I know that if my restaurant and club don’t pan out I can always take that as an alternative career. How do you feel about chicken cordon blue? I’m thinking green salad and haricot verts.”

“Never had it.” She said thoughtfully. “You have a restaurant? Like, your own restaurant? Can I even afford this?” she asked, curiously, resting her hip against one of the counters, watching him as he sorted the ingredients.

For the first time in a long time Oliver prepared a meal while chatting away, not barking orders at his crew or giving out instructions regarding the preparation of it but just enjoying the conversation while prepping everything. At some point she even offered him a glass of red wine, which he gratefully took. It surprised him how easy it felt. How normal it seemed, to share a glass of wine with Felicity while talking about everything and nothing as he cooked. He was sure it was mostly because of the woman that now sat perched on one of the counters, watching everything he did with interest, as if her blue eyes were drinking in his knowledge and skill in the kitchen. And a niggling feeling of want wormed its way into his heart.

He wanted this simplicity…

When the doorbell rang Felicity perked up instantly.

“Oh no.” she murmured and looked at the clock on the wall. “Oh, frack. She’s early. I thought you were going to be done by the time she arrived that way I could spare you.” She added hopping off the counter and pacing around in a nervous fashion before she started to leave the kitchen, she paused at the entrance and turned over her heel, pressing her lips together in an apologetic manner. “I really wish that I could explain or somehow warn you about what’s about to happen but there’s no way to do that now and I am so, so sorry because you’ve been so nice. My mother, she’s…well, she’s my mother, that’s as much as I can give you. She’ll probably say something completely inappropriate and out there once she realizes I have a person of the opposite sex to mine and hers in my kitchen so please, whatever she says, don’t take it the wrong way.”

And with that she was gone, leaving a confused Oliver behind.       

Squealing was heard only a few seconds later and Oliver was surprised that the glass around the kitchen and the windows of the house survived it.

“OOoooh, my baby girl! I’ve missed you so much!”

The voice was nothing like Felicity’s voice but the tone of caring was unmistakable. Her mom was obviously happy to see her and with the semi-open concept of the townhome it was easy for Oliver’s curiosity to get the better of him and take a peek. They were still standing by the door, Felicity was being pushed out of their hug, to be at arm’s length, by a blonde woman wearing a bright yellow dress and sky high rhinestone pumps. A bright pink carry on suitcase rested just inside the doorway.

He’d just been about to lean back to the safety of the kitchen when there was a loud gasp from the woman when she saw him, she moved Felicity out of the way, smacking her on the arm as she passed and making a bee line towards where he was.

“Felicity! Have you been holding out on your own mother!? Why didn’t you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend?!”

Just as he was turning on his heel he was attacked or, more accurately, engulfed in a hug by the woman who, might or might not have, groped his back with a bit more gusto than was appropriate. He was glancing at Felicity over her mother’s head, awkwardly patting the woman’s back, mouth opening and closing but no sound was coming out of it.

That’s when he remembered it. Felicity had a ‘boyfriend’ problem… aside from the ‘not cooking’ problem.

“Mom!” Felicity exclaimed nervously, at the entrance of the kitchen, blushing from hairline to neck and quite possibly further down. “Oliver is not…”

“Used to such effusive first meetings.” He interrupted before she could go any further, giving her the ‘play along look’ before he plastered his most charming and fake smile on his face as he untangled himself from her mother and then went to stand by Felicity, settling his hand on the small of her back, part of his palm connecting with the sliver of skin revealed by her top. The spark there was unmistakable. “This, it’s really very new, between us, Mrs. Smoak…”

“Like extremely new.” The blonde by his side offered looking up at him and beaming a thankful smile his way which he reciprocated, sincerely this time around.

“You really shouldn’t blame Felicity for not saying anything.” He finished, pulling his gaze away in order to look at her mom.

“I see how it is. And you call me Donna, honey. We need to drop the whole title thing too! It is so silly!” The older blonde stated with a dismissive wave of her hand, coming towards them and hooking her arm with her daughter, pulling her away from Oliver. “We will leave you to whatever you’re doing in there, honey, God knows we Smoak women are disasters in the kitchen.” She offered and then stage whispered to her daughter as they walked away. “He kinda looks like that Queen guy doesn’t he? Never mind that. He’s hot and he cooks? Oh, honey, you better put a ring on that and make it soon!”

“MOM!”

Oliver Queen liked his life…but after that single afternoon? He had a feeling that if he added Felicity Smoak as an ingredient to his life he’d like it a WHOLE lot more; especially if she ended up wearing a ring.

His ring.

He just had to convince her to go out with him first…


End file.
